Inside Joke
by SJJ
Summary: On the anniversary of Barbara Gordon's shooting, two of Gotham's Knights are pushed to their very limits to which there maybe no return...
1. Punchline

"Dad?"  
  
She wheeled herself into the small house leaving the insecurities of the dark, loathing  
city behind her. She heard the frenzied squeal of tyres as the Taxi pulled away from the  
kerb and into the damp night.   
  
It was good to have company on a day such as this.  
  
Especially a night like this.  
  
Gotham was lonely. The 'Bat-Family' scattered on various assignments across and away  
from the city - all aside from Bruce who refused to say what he was up to. It was as if by  
sharing his secrets to so many, he had to create even more secrets - just to balance things  
up.   
  
Even Dick was away tonight. She grunted. Tonight of all nights. It couldn't be helped, in  
fact, it was her choice. He was under a lot of pressure lately, too much in fact. No, Dick  
shouldn't have to carry her burden as well. She had insisted he got away and do what  
needed to be done that night. She would be fine with her dad.   
  
To be honest, She knew she wouldn't be fine - especially with her dad. His burden on this  
day was as big as hers. In someways, it was as much to go and comfort him as much as it  
was for him to comfort her.   
  
She had noticed the new security device by the front door. That was good. You needed to  
keep your security devices up to date, especially in Gotham.   
  
She glided her chair into the living area. She adjusted her glasses. "Dad?" she called.  
  
There was a smell.  
  
That smell. She covered her nose.  
  
She tried to place it but she couldn't - yet she could feel her muscles tense of their own  
accord. Her body knew that scent - her mind was having to play catch up.  
Something was wrong.  
  
The lights went out.  
  
"Dad!" she screamed. Not tonight of all nights. She could feel perspiration begin to tickle  
her cheek. Her blue pullover began to itch and the logo 'Weezer good' just didn't seem  
funny anymore. Her body began to feel like a lump of granite.  
  
"Buck up Barbara!" she chastised herself. "What's wrong with you? You used to deal with  
situations like this all the time. Get a grip!" Talking to yourself now. Great.  
Of all the days. Not today. Not today of all days.  
  
"Barbara, honey, is that you?" Came a gruff voice from out the backdoor.   
  
"Dad?" She enquired. She moved slowly through the house. Tense. Carefully. It was his  
voice, but something was wrong. Very wrong.  
  
She opened the door to the back of the house.  
  
A figure sat scratched into the shadows. He was sitting on a garden chair in a long dark  
coat. Dad's trenchcoat. He remained still.  
  
"Dad - what's wrong?" She brought herself down onto the patio.   
  
"What's wrong?" He asked sharply. "On a day like this? This very day?" The figure stood  
up, carefully remaining shrouded, as if for dramatic effect. Barbara's heart dropped like a  
lead weight into her stomach. She was going to be sick. Not here. Not today. Fear and  
anger congealed in an untidy concoction through her veins.  
  
"Where's my father?" She asked angrily. Damn. Her voice was shaky. She now knew she  
was very scared.  
  
"Papa Gordon was called out on urgent business!" the swung his arms into the arm with  
overdone theatrics "As has his Batacular Bat Brady Bunch!" The rough tones were fading  
with each word. The voice was getting higher and higher - to an almost fevered cackle.  
The figure's breath was audibly getting very excited.   
  
Bile leaped into her throat and she rubbed her eyes. She looked up and to her horror, the  
figure was gone - as fast and quietly as Bruce. She backed the chair up feeling for her  
utility pouch she had stored under her seat.  
  
Her neck felt warm. Gentle, irregular breaths of air tickling the back of her neck. The  
smell - how could she have forgotten the smell?  
  
Because she had to.   
  
She forced the chair forward away from the door and into the garden.  
  
"Opps!" Declared a voice, uttering an apology for an act not yet committed.  
Then the chair was forcibly tipped and Barbara Gordon was knocked onto the grass.  
She felt cold hands press her into the earth and a face rubbed up against her cheek. The  
smell was nauseating.  
  
"Tonight," the Joker whispered, "I'm going to take us both onto a trip down memory  
lane!" He laughed maniacally and deliberately into her ear, deafening her. Barbara's body  
was frozen with a fear that she had thought she was long since supressed.  
  
"It will be fun!" Declared the voice. There was a pause - a deliberation. Then an evil grin.  
"Well, it will be fun for me anyhow!" he chuckled nonchalantly.  
  
***  
  
"Holy break ins!" Declared the boy.  
  
"What is it Robin?" Batman pulled the Batmobile round one of Gotham's many tight  
corners. His fingers gripped the wheel firmly.  
  
"Barbara is in trouble!" Robin exclaimed.  
  
"You sure?" Batman glanced at the batphone. It was not flashing and Robin hadn't picked  
it up. Nevertheless the timing couldn't be better. Just heading back to the cave after a  
hard nights work. "How do you know?"  
  
"Because you know too."   
  
Robin's voice had changed. Familiar, but different. Not Dick.  
But then Dick wasn't Robin was he?  
  
Batman kept his fixed on the dark street-lit road. Robin continued - same tone. "You've  
been worried all day."  
  
Had he? Yes he had. How could he have forgotten?  
  
"I know Jason. She's meant to be visiting Jim today - she must be at his place. Typical  
Joker. To the day."  
  
He swung the car round, just as Jason said something that made his heart stop.  
"The anniversary of the day he shot Barbara."  
  
It was as if all his senses rang out at once. He supressed them. "Exactly." Replied The  
Batman through gritted teeth. His eyes wavered down to the Batphone. It was no longer  
there. He frowned. Puzzling. Then again, it was a while since he had actually kept a  
batphone in his car. In fact, had he ever?  
  
He floored the accelerator and the mighty vehicle leapt forward.  
  
"Be prepared Jason. The Joker will be ready for us. No heroics like.." He stopped.  
"Like when I went after my mother?"  
  
Batman's hands began to shake uncontrollably.  
  
"No, I mean.." He stopped. What did he mean? Jason was here. He hadn't gone after his  
mother.  
  
He hadn't died after going after his mother.  
  
"Everyone's going to want a piece of the Joker, after what he did to Barbara."  
When had he said that?  
  
His hands. They were shaking. Yes, he had said that. Just before Jason had died. He was  
talking about Barbara to Jim. That was years ago. It had been a double blow in the space  
of a few months. He shot Barbara through the spine and then beaten Jason to death.  
He turned to his companion, confusion turning to irritation."You can't know about the  
anniversary, Jason, you died shortly after she was shot." He looked back towards the road  
and then suddenly grabbed at his chest.  
  
Pain.  
  
He slammed the breaks on the car and removed the canopy. He stumbled out onto the  
dark, wet pavement. "You died." he gasped. "What's wrong with me?"  
  
Jason leapt out of the car and landed by Batman's side. "What's a death among friends, eh  
Bruce?" he said brightly. "You must be getting used to it by now. Should make Barbara's  
easier - if he let's her die, of course."  
  
Batman looked up. "You don't believe that!" he exclaimed as he dabbed his nose. It was  
bleeding. "I would have died if it would have saved you and I'd do the same for Barbara!"   
  
Jason's features were grim. Locked tight. His eyes burning with hatred. "And if it all got  
in the way of the crusade? Just another death in the family." Batman started to cough.  
  
Passers by stopped and watch as the Dark Knight fell to the floor. No not Barbara as well.  
He had been keeping an eye on the Joker's movements just in case something like this. So  
how did he let himself get caught of guard - driving casually back to Stately Wayne  
Manor with Jason.  
  
Stately Wayne Manor? When had he ever called it that?  
  
"You're dead!" He yelled at the top of his voice. His companion didn't flinch. Instead he  
knelt down towards his mentor and wiped some of the blood from Bruce's cowl.  
  
"I know." He said softly, trailing the blood he had collected on his finger down Bruce's  
lips. "Soon you will be too."  
  
***  
  
She struggled with frenzied panic, trying desperately to dislodge the evl creature, but like  
a stranger in a dream - and she had met this stranger in many a dream - he was  
impossible to remove.  
  
Smiling, laughing, cackling. Limbs moving of their own accord. Unpredictable, but  
always resulting in the same firm grip on her body. She could feel his frenzied  
excitement like a young boy finally unwrapping his new toy.  
  
She squirmed under his pincer grip. "Oh come on four eyes!" He snarled. "You can dance  
better than this!"  
  
She tried to scratch him, but was unable to get a firm grip on his silky white skin. "You  
know," he reflected, "I was due for a vacation, but I said, no Joker, you have  
commitments to think about!"   
  
His face suddenly changed from deliriously ecstatic to deadly serious and his neck  
suddenly craned back into Barbara's face. "So be appreciative!" He growled, his lips just  
millimetres from her own. His foul smelling spit caught on her bared teeth. She managed  
to force his face away but it was only replaced with the firm grip of a gloved hand across  
her mouth.   
  
She struggled as her lungs began to burst with the need for air. Joker watched from above  
with disinterest.   
  
"See you when you wake up!" he teased. Joker's grin and the rest of the world behind it  
faded to black.  
  
***  
  
Batman stood up and pushed Robin aside. He rested his hands on the bonnet of the  
Batmobile, it's motor was still purring. Jason was already sitting in the driver seat, his  
body ensconced in the leather seat. Batman tumbled into the passenger side. His  
breathing laboured. He knew the symptoms - but never had them himself.  
  
This was some sort of panic attack.  
  
What was wrong with him?  
  
"Barbara needs your help Bruce." Jason said, started revving the motor. "You've been set  
up. Set up big time."  
  
Bruce watched the canopy close. He removed his mask, sweat and blood smeared across  
his face.  
  
"This is so cruel." He whispered.  
  
"It's the life you chose for all of us." Jason replied with a shrug as he took the first corner.  
"You are closer to being beaten Bruce. Your new group has been manipulated, giving  
Joker the space to do what he wants without being threatened."  
  
"I'll stop him." Bruce spat, rage boiling from within. "I always stop him." It was a rage he  
hadn't felt for years, surging through his body like acid through paper. "Drive me to  
Gordon's house and alert Nightwing."  
  
"I can't." Jason casually remarked. "Hmm, nasty junction that. Forgot about that one." He  
powered the car through the city streets and into the outskirts.  
  
"Wait." Bruce paused. Part of himself believed he was playing along with these bizarre  
circumstance, the other part believed it. "How are we being manipulated?"  
  
"Joker has set this up months in advance. Created scenarios which have pulled your new  
Robin and bat companions away from the city."  
  
"How do you know this?" Bruce asked. "And why did he not try and manipulate me?"  
  
"I know this because you know this." Jason itched his face with one hand still on the  
wheel. He adjusted the rear view mirror. "As for you, well he's got you the best of all."  
Bruce's jaw went slack and Jason smiled.  
  
"Don't you remember Bruce?"  
  
***  
  
There is a warehouse.  
  
Totally unremarkable, it was built twenty years ago in Gotham's most industrial period.  
Now it sits there. An empty vessel, a hollow reminder of how profitable the district  
property once was.  
  
All the trails had ended there.  
  
There was little movement from the building. Any passers wouldn't have even noticed the  
Bat shaped figure drift in through one of the broken windows. He was too good to be  
spotted.   
  
Even now, six hours later, they would be unaware of any commotion or turmoil from  
within the walls.  
  
If someone had looked and gone into the grounds, prised open the rusted metal doors -  
they would have found something that no man could ever forget and should really have  
never seen in the first place.  
  
Sharp pieces of needle shaped projectiles scattered the floor. If the said person looked  
even more carefully, he'd find little secreted projectile launchers throughout the shadows  
of the inner walls.   
  
Secluded.   
  
Hidden - all covered in masking nets.  
  
If such a person had gone to these lengths, despite the horror of the building's centre  
piece, he may have concluded that someone had spent a long time setting up such a trap.  
He would have also concluded that it was a very successful trap.  
  
For lying in the centre of the warehouse, on the cold dusty dirt clogged floor, was a body.  
The body wore the tattered remains of a vigilante's uniform, the cape riddled with tiny  
holes.   
  
It lay twitching.   
  
Bleeding.   
  
Sweating.   
  
The mouth fixed with lines of pain. Covered in tiny sharp metal needles and pinpricks of  
blood. Pieced, the man looked like a deformed cactus. Spines blossoming across his face,  
his body, and his limbs, ready to flower with deadly intent.   
  
The image of the bat upon the man's chest was torn to shreds, much like the man's mind.   
Inside that mind, Batman screamed like a caged animal. 


	2. Mind Games

Reality returned.   
  
She gasped. She could breathe.  
  
Silence.  
  
She opened her eyes.  
  
It made little difference to her vision. The velvet texture tickling her cheek told her she was blind folded.   
  
She licked her lips - not too dehydrated. It gave her some vague idea how long she had been knocked out. A few hours, maximum, no more than that.  
  
She tried to relax but to no surprise whatsoever, she found she was bound to a chair. Her hands felt around the edges. A dining chair. Wooden. The temperature was warm, artificial. She assumed she was in a building. Judging by the wood carvings on the chair, it was one of her dads dining set.  
  
She listened.   
  
A familiar squeal and a rattling against floorboards. Her wheelchair. Her property.  
  
"Woohoo!" Came a delighted squeal.  
  
The same sound again, as the wheelchair rushed past once more, a cackle accompanied it.  
  
Damn him.  
  
The noise came closer as the chair thundered past - and then stopped.  
  
She heard it rattle as it reversed towards her.  
  
"My, my, this is such fun!" the high pitched voice declared. "No wonder you gave up using your legs!"  
Monster. What could she say? What could she say which would possibly make a difference?  
  
"Hmm," mused the voice. "Looks like we have a serious party pooper here."  
  
She felt his breath once more. Sickly sour. He was too close, intentionally invading her physical space.  
  
"I guess it must run in the family!"  
  
***  
  
"This is a dream?" Batman stared at his hands. All so real.   
  
This wasn't the first time he had been caught in an experience like this. The JLA had offered him adventures which  
took the word experience to it's very limit. This felt real. It also felt very intimate. Claustrophobic. He rubbed his eyes. His mind didn't seem as focused as usual.  
  
"It's not a dream." Robin replied, hovering on the edge of his vision. A ghost - a very real ghost. "This," he gestured to the mismatched images of Gotham that span around them, "This is what's left of your soul. Squashed into a tiny recess of your mind, running from the infection."  
  
"The infection?" queried the Bat. "What is it?"  
  
"Your physical self can taste the compound. You can in here too."  
  
Batman licked his lips. Slightly acidic. A Joker compound, no doubt of that, but there was something else. Some other chemical had been mixed in. "This is new," he muttered. Robin nodded.  
  
"It's breaking down your - our - mind. I think it's driving you crazy."  
  
Batman smiled. That was definitely the Joker's signature. The punchline.  
  
Robin - Jason - moved closed to Batman until their faces were virtually touching. "He will kill Barbara like he killed me. Like he's killed you."  
  
Batman gritted his teeth. "Not yet. He's not killed me yet."  
  
Robin shrugged. "Soon then. Unless you do something about it..." his face danced as he uttered the end to his sentence. "..Old man."   
  
Batman looked up and into Jason's eyes. "You're not Jason," he spat. "Jason was hot headed, but he was never malicious!"  
  
"I'm not Jason. I'm your construct of the boy. I'm how you feel he deserved to be - after the way you treated him, of course. You could say I'm simply an image fuelled by your guilt."  
  
Batman's lip twitched. "A ghost."  
  
"A reflection." Robin corrected. "Your own hatred for your actions reflected back at you. Self loathing. I'm all the things you believed Jason had the right to say, but could never say it."  
  
"Because he's dead." Batman's head hung low. Gotham was spinning faster now.   
  
"Like yourself. You're the parts of Batman which have fled to the corner of his head. The parts which ran when the others stayed and fought."  
  
"What are you saying?" Batman touched his mouth. Blood. He knew the answer, but could he cope with the principle?  
"You are a construct also. You are a construct of all the parts of Batman who couldn't face the Joker's toxin and ran."  
  
Batman looked up. "I don't believe it."  
  
"Simply, you are a the parts of the weakest elements of Bruce Wayne. Frankly, you are all that's left of him and I must say it's not very impressive."  
  
***  
  
"Let's talk."  
  
The Joker removed Barbara's mask. She was indeed in her father's house. She could make out very little. The lights were turned down quite low. The Joker sat before her in her wheelchair, shadows licking his white face. That grin..  
  
She knew there was little to no chance of escape. She had to try and remain interesting for as long as possible. Long enough for rescue. That was her only hope.  
  
"I'm listening."   
  
The Joker waggled a thin finger. "No, talking. You see pet," he span the chair in a neat circle, "I hear the Jolly Joker's voice all day and all night. It goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on." He settled the chair back to facing her. "So, Pumpkin, I want to hear someone else's voice for a change."  
  
"Why?" She felt ill. Tension and nerves swelling into a massive knot of stress and air.  
Her stomach churned.  
  
Joker's face was chillingly serious.  
"I want to know what it's like to be sane."  
  
Batman clenched his fist. Images floating in his head. "I remember chasing a lead."  
  
"The real Batman remembers a lead," corrected Jason. "A lead Joker planted."  
  
Batman ignored him. "The Axis warehouse."  
  
Robin nodded. "He knew you would go there."  
  
"I was expecting a note. A clue of some sort..." stammered the Dark Knight.  
  
"He knew that." laughed his dead companion.  
  
Batman winced. "There were so many. Sharp. Piercing my skin."  
  
"Overkill. He knows your fast. That warehouse was full of needle launchers. You didn't have a chance."   
  
"I must gain control." Batman declared with false confidence. Robin giggled.  
  
"You're too weak to do so. Your mind is a mass of confusion. It's being driven insane, chemically. Order will be eaten out of your head. Soon there will be nothing but chaos. A mindless vegetable."  
  
"No..."  
  
Robin once again gestured to the spinning environment. It had lost all it's colour. "Look around you. You're losing control of this tiny space."  
  
"There must be a way to stop him!"   
  
Robin cackled. "There is. You won't like it."  
  
"Try me." Growled The Bat.  
  
Jason smiled wickedly.  
  
***  
  
"You don't want to be insane?" Barbara gasped incredulously.  
  
Joker snorted, sipping at a cup of tea that had suddenly appeared. "Pooh! I love it! But as they say, the gas is always greener on the other side!" He chuckled merrily at his little joke.  
  
Barbara winced at the gag. "You just want to know what it's like to be normal?"  
  
Joker shrugged apathetically. "It's all ying to his bat-a-yang, and quite frankly, I sometimes I wonder if he is insane or simply just the dullest man I've ever had the misfortunate to laugh upon!"   
  
"I don't understand.." He was trying to throw her. Confuse her. She was sure of it.  
  
"Batman you silly moo-moo! Batsy baby! Why, at this moment he'll be experiencing madness in it's perfect state. Terminal insanity!" Another chuckle.  
  
This sounded bad. Very bad. "Joker.."   
  
Joker ignored her. "So come on! Tell me! I've forgotten what it's like! I'm guessing sanity is rather boring, n'est pas?"  
  
Barbara shook head. What a request. Just what is it like to be sane? "No, I can't explain. Not without..." She stopped and her blood ran cold.  
  
"Without what?"  
  
A trap. Hook, line and sinker. She would have kicked herself if she wasn't so scared. "I don't know," she stammered.  
  
The Joker grinned with cold satisfaction. "Yes you do."  
  
She went silent.  
  
"You can't explain without a common point of reference. That was what you were about to say!"  
  
Oh god, no. Please no.  
  
The Joker's tone was deadly - like ice. The grin remained. "You need to taste the wild side, honey!" He whooped with joy. "Wheelie Girl wants to pull a smilie!"   
  
***  
  
"You can never escape this Bruce. Your world revolved around order. This chaos is a chemical you can't control."  
  
Batman refused to admit this. He could. He did. Always, he did. "Yes I can!" he declared.  
  
"It's impossible!" Robin shook him. "It's the only answer!"  
  
Robin watched him with light curiosity. "You're scared! I've told you the answer!"  
  
"Never! I won't accept that as an alternative!" was the response.   
  
"What would Dick say if he knew what was happening to Barbara? What would he say to you? She'll die!"  
  
Batman went pale.  
  
"Well!" Demanded Jason.  
  
"NO!"   
  
Batman screamed.  
  
***  
  
He sat up with a slight spasm. Needles were dropping from his sweating body. His mind felt like it was on fire. His eyes tried focusing while his hands swept off the sharp metal points - each coated with the Joker's venom. Anger. He needed anger to get rid of the symptoms. That's what Jason was doing.  
  
"Thanks Jason." He whispered. "I owe you more than I can ever repay."  
  
Staggering to his feet, he began to make his way to the door of the warehouse, his feet crunching against the carpet of spikes that littered the warehouse.  
  
"I'm coming Barbara!" He declared under his breath.  
  
***  
  
The door was open. His heart beat faster than he would have normally liked. The drugs still lingered in his system - and probably would for many days. He pulled out a batarang.  
  
Take no chances. This was the Joker.   
  
The house was a mess. Pictures ripped down, papers flagstoned the floor. Furniture had been upturned.  
  
He heard a noise. He tried to keep his head from spinning and concentrate on it's source.  
  
He moved through the shadows. Nothing stirred.   
  
That noise again. A soft gentle noise. Disrupted breathing.  
  
"Jim?" He called out quietly, shifting his position as he did, making sure no one was able to target his voice. "Barbara?"  
He turned a corner and saw the figure hunched on the floor.   
  
He moved closer.  
  
"Jim?" He glanced to his left, the cracked mirror he past caught his reflection. The tattered, broken Dark Knight looked wearily back at him. He was in no state to take on the Joker.   
  
But the Joker was gone.  
  
"Dick?"   
  
His ex-partner knelt in the middle of the room. He was dressed in his police uniform. It was Dick's breathing he could hear. An agitated uncontrolled breathing.   
  
But only his....  
  
Oh no.  
  
Lying on the floor there was a shape.  
  
A twisted shape.  
  
He tried to kneel down for a closer look but Dick pushed him away.   
  
"Get out of here!" the young man cried, heaving through his muted sobs. Batman froze. Not sure whether to back away or move closer. His heart thundered against his chest. He moved forward once more.  
  
This time, he was caught full on by his companion and thrown into Jim's upturned table.  
  
He was simply too weak to prevent himself collapsing against the broken wooden frame.  
  
Dick stood above him, tears rolling down his face.  
  
Batman - Bruce - looked across at the figure which lay metres away. The moonlight caught the face of the young red haired lady. Her head caught an angle which pointed it directly at him. There was no sign of animation on her delicate features.  
  
Just a gigantic smile. 


	3. Outside chance, inside choice

The Joker was gone. All that was left was his standard calling card - another pointless death. What was worse, Batman couldn't think of anyone who deserved it less. Barbara already had faced one truly horrifying ordeal with the madman and then, on the anniversary of that macabre act, he finished her life with one final grim encounter.  
  
His whole essence in tatters, the Batman leant against the wall, mentally and physically wrecked. If the Joker had intended to break him - he had succeeded. A win or win situation for the lunatic. If the toxins had killed him, Joker would have rid himself of his arch nemesis, if Batman had survived, Joker would gain great pleasure from the knowledge that failure had cost the Dark Knight. It had cost him his dear friend's life.  
  
Then there was Jim Gordon. Good lord, what could he say to him? It was another family death for Jim to cope with. Yet to the Joker, all of this was simply another big bonus.  
  
To top it all, to lay the icing on the Joker's jubilant victory, was the fact he had killed the lover of Batman's closest companion. The lunatic would never know this truth, but it need not matter. It was about Bruce's failure rather than the Joker's success. His failure to save Barbara was a failure to prevent another tragedy befalling his best friend.   
  
This was the most difficult part to come to terms with. With Dick standing before him now, Batman knew this wasn't going to be made easy.  
  
"Dick, I'm sorry" Bruce stammered as he removed his cowl. "I tried to get here in time."  
  
"You knew this was going to happen?" His companion glared back at him, a beacon of fury in a dead room.   
  
Bruce shifted awkwardly. He was so very tired. "I was tracking the Joker just in case he tried anything like this." He paused. "It was a possible scenario," he agreed.  
  
"A likely scenario!" corrected the cop. "You're one of the world's greatest detective's Bruce - maybe the best. You wouldn't waste your time tracking that madman if your gut instincts didn't tell you it was necessary!"  
  
"Dick, it wasn't like that. It was simply routine." Bruce ran his fingers through his matted hair. "I've kept a watch on the Joker at this time of year ever since-" He stopped. This wasn't helping.  
  
"You never told me!" Dick cried. "Bruce you should have told me! I deserved to know if you thought there was any chance of Barbara being at risk!" Tears were rolling down his face and they cut deep into Bruce's soul.  
  
"I thought I could handle it!" Bruce looked down at his torn gloves. They were beginning to shake. He removed his cloak. "I thought I could handle it." he repeated to himself.  
  
"You thought?" yelled Dick every muscle in his body bulged with uncontrollable wrath. "You thought? This was my life you were gambling with! You know that lunatic better than anyone - better than yourself! If there was even a chance you suspected you should have told me!"  
  
Bruce stumbled over to the body and draped his cloak over the smiling corpse. "Don't do this Dick," he whispered. "Please, don't do this."  
  
Dick laughed uncontrollably "What? I should let it go? Just another death in the family to chalk up?" Bruce winced. "Looks like we're going to need to order another casing for the Batcave! Soon we'll have more mementos to your defeats as we do for your victories!"  
  
Bruce snapped. He swung round and gripped Grayson by his uniform. Dick snarled and pushed back sending Bruce off balance. "Got my case prepared, Bruce? If you're not prepared to kill, perhaps you shouldn't play with people's lives!  
  
"You don't mean that!" Exclaimed Bruce. "Dick, don't be stupid!"  
  
"What like get my friends killed? Is that your legacy? Have you considered maybe Clark was right?" Dick scowled. "You're too old to do this job competently. Did Barbara have to die for you to realise this?"  
  
Bruce froze. "What?"  
  
He began to formulate a question but his body was too busy reacting to the sharp blow to his gut. He stumbled back as Dick's leg arced up and connected with his neck. Only training prevented permanent damage and he rolled with the attack. The residual effect of the drug clearly slowing his reactions.  
  
Dick was trying to kill him.   
  
"This can wait!" He pleaded as he feebly missed dodging a sweeping attack. The attack unbalanced his weak frame and he collided with Barbara's smashed wheelchair. He topped over the apparatus and onto the floor. His head smacked into the carpet. He winced at the sight of Barbara's partially veiled grin from beneath his cloak. His spine then screamed as he felt Dick's knee embed itself in his back.  
  
"Take a good long look Bruce!" yelled his ex-partner. "Your fault! You're no better than that madman!"  
  
"No." Bruce breathed. Then the thought he'd been trying to process hit him. He craned his neck; an easy target for Dick to snap but he no longer cared.  
  
"Clark," stammered Bruce 'How did you know about my conversation with Clark?" His mind raced/ A conspiracy? Was Clark turning his children on him? Did it matter? Somehow, it felt it did.  
  
Dick backhanded him across the face. "I know because you know."   
  
"I don't understand." Bruce could feel his consciousness slowly fading. "I don't understand."  
  
"You won't if you're dead." Whispered a female voice. "Keep beating yourself up like this and you'll never understand."  
Barbara? He shifted to face the body. There was no evidence of change. No miraculous recovery.  
  
"Here, you idiot."  
  
He craned his neck up slightly beyond the cold cadaver. He squinted in disbelief.  
  
"Funny, I always I had a nice smile," grumbled the figure. A youngish girl draped in a cape and cowl - a shock of red hair tumbled down her shoulders. The residual effect of the drugs mixed with fatigue playing with his vision.  
  
"Who are you?" he asked deliriously. He could feel Dick's fingers wrap round his neck.  
  
The figure delicately leaped over the body and landed before him. She dropped her head low and next to his. She kissed him lightly on the forehead as he began to fade from the world.  
  
"Hope." She whispered delicately.  
  
***  
  
There were no stars, only space.  
  
Normally the two are associated, but here there was nothing; the darkness tumbling into the distance or the dark tightly hugging his body? - he couldn't tell. Distance had no meaning.  
  
"Almost done," giggled the voice.  
  
Barbara - a young Barbara, Batgirl.   
  
"I need to get up Barbara, before Dick kills me. Help me wake up."  
  
The image gripped his waist tightly. Perhaps he should stay here, in the warm - where he didn't have to face his partner. "Perhaps it's best this way," he declared. "Let him kill me."  
  
"Dick would never kill you," tutted Barbara. "You know that."  
  
"I used to think that."  
  
"You have to listen to yourself, not your feelings. You know the answer."  
  
I know because you know.  
  
Oh god.  
  
"You can't hide in your make believe world any longer Bruce. You have to face yourself - and reality."  
  
Face Dick?   
  
No, that's not what she meant.  
  
Face his fear.  
  
"I never left, did I? I'm still unconscious in the warehouse!"  
  
***  
  
Barbara's eyes danced around the room, surveying all objects and possibilities. Never give up hope - that was one of the rules both Bruce and Dick had bestowed on her. She had tried reaching J'onn several times but she had no luck connecting to his Martian. She was on her own. It was looking increasingly unlikely she was going to be rescued and not exactly the type to play the damsel in distress. She had to do something!  
  
The Joker had left her alone. He was upstairs, whistling merrily to himself. She could hear the distinct sound of running bathwater. He was mixing something nasty in her dad's bath. She swore her hated for him, molesting her fathers home, tainting it.   
  
She tugged at her bonds. They were pulled very tight, they cut into her wrists. No hope of undoing them by hand, but she had hardly expected that. She glanced at the phone that sat on a coffee table just metres away. The wire was cut. She turned her head to the windows - they were closed.  
  
She sighed.  
  
Perhaps she was just going to have to wait for the right moment - if it was ever to come. Could she take that risk?  
The she spotted her wheelchair in the corner of the room. If she could get to her utility pouch.   
  
She smiled inwardly to herself and began to shift her chair towards it.  
  
Hope.  
  
***  
  
"You're living out a dream," Batgirl whispered. "Avoiding the truth of your situation."  
  
"Jason was my guilt," Bruce queried. "Dick was my anger and you say you are who?"   
  
"The embodiment of your hope," she explained. "All your constructs are driven by your emotions. They aren't just simple duplicates of the people you know."   
  
Bruce thought back to Dick's attack and Jason's taunts. "Reflections of myself - mirrors of what I feel I deserve." He felt Batgirl tickle his cheek, like a mother try to sooth a crying child.  
  
"Self Pity," she replied. "You're weak now. The Joker's toxins have eaten most of your strength, only you're negative attributes remain."  
  
"Jason said I was a construct also and if you all are reflections - what does that make me to Bruce Wayne - to Batman?"  
Batgirl gently turned Bruce round. Standing in the dark was an antique wooden mirror, lit by unseen light.   
  
He gazed into its soul.  
  
The Scarecrow gazed back at him.  
  
"Fear."   
  
***  
  
"Bath time!" declared the Joker bursting into the room. A foul toxic odour followed him in. His grin faded.   
  
The chair sat vacant and the wheelchair was gone.  
  
The ropes that had been tied to the dining chair had been burned away and a cutting tool sat on the chairs seat. He leapt towards the chair and kicked it across the room in anger. He stormed through the room and out of the open backdoor and into the backyard. He had welded the front door shut and the windows were locked. She had to be out the back somewhere.  
  
Propped up against the fence was the missing wheelchair. He'd noticed she'd had rather strong arms; it wouldn't have taken much effort to pull herself out and over the fence.  
  
He grinned. She wouldn't get far with just her arms. With a quick sprint he leaped over the fence.  
  
From the shadows that shrouded the flowerbed, Barbara breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
***  
  
She held him in her arms, no longer Batgirl, just plain Barbara. She was toying with his hair - in a way less like a lover, more suiting to a mother's touch. Hope had taken on a maternal approach. He wondered for a moment why hope had taken the form of Barbara and not one of his parents.   
  
He sighed, it was probably because he could no longer picture his parents embrace - just the horror of that fatal night. Their terrified faces tattooed to the inside of his eyelids.  
  
Barbara was, he reflected, Gotham's mother. Metaphorically speaking. She was the cities eyes and ears, listening to the pulse of its people. Gotham's mother was his mother. The only mother that seemed real to him anymore.  
  
What was real? He was just a construct - he was just a partial embodiment of Bruce Wayne. He never had a mother. Until now, he had never even existed.  
  
Jason had told him there was a way to the fight the chaos of the toxin - he just didn't know if he could face it, or control it. He had concocted his own illusion that he could - but Bruce's mind destroyed that illusion. Now, Barbara gave him hope, strength to fight the madness - to save the real Bruce Wayne and the real Barbara Gordon from a madman.   
  
"You know what you must do - you must embrace the chaos."  
  
"You know what I'll be capable of? The risk involved if I let go?"  
  
She nodded. "You are no longer playing by your rules Bruce."   
  
His rules were important. Cover all the possibilities - leave no room for error. Now that had all changed. He had made an error and he was now paying for it. He knew he might end up paying for it with Bruce's very soul.  
He cuddled closer to her.  
  
"Let me see him. Let me finish my part in this."  
  
  
"You are the world's greatest detective," Jason had said. "To catch your enemy you learn to think - to be the enemy."   
It would be a small sacrifice for Bruce's sanity.  
  
"You know him as much as you know yourself. You've learnt to think like him."   
  
He pulled back the curtain in his head.  
  
"You can't fight the chaos infecting in your mind. You can't control it. Your brain is built on deductive reasoning. Logic. Mathematics. The poison has no such process."  
  
The figure sat in the chair his back turned to Bruce.  
  
"To defeat it - to defeat chaos - you have to become part of chaos."  
  
Bruce walked up to the figure and rested a hand on the back of the chair.   
"I need your help."  
  
The Joker swung round, puffing on a ridiculously huge cigar.  
  
"Well now Brucie boy…"   
  
He relinquished his life.  
  
In the warehouse, Batman's sweat encrusted face contorted into a gigantic, hideous grin. "…all you had to do was ask." 


	4. Double The Laughs

Barbara pulled herself into her wheelchair and raced towards the house. She knew she had very little time.   
  
Once in the kitchen she first lowered the lights and then began to rummage through the drawers. She recalled her dad keeping a spare cell phone in the kitchen – it had to be in there somewhere. By now she reckoned the Joker would have checked the front of the house and now be combing the alleyways, looking for her hidden, frightened figure.   
  
She pulled out plates, cutlery, an assortment of mismatched gadgets as well as a variety of coffee stained police files. Dad, why so disorganized these days?  
  
Footsteps.  
  
"Nana Joker on the phone – seems to think it's time for a bath!'"  
  
She spun her chair to face her attacker. Her fear was beginning to turn into pure frustration.   
  
The Joker was leaning against the doorframe, a small cell phone grasped between his white bony fingers.   
"Damn you Joker!" she growled.  
  
***  
  
He covered his eyes in mock fright. "Oooh," he declared, "Joker's in for it now!" He moved towards her, rolling up his purple sleeves. "It's been raining out there and there were no marks in the alley – a cripple like you would be bound to create an obvious trail in the mud – good try, but no banana cake for you, my little Miss Gordon!" She tried to back up, away from the evil beast, but found herself trapped against one of her father's wooden kitchen cupboards. Joker continued his rant, getting more excited by the second. "A trick I learned from Batsy, always look for clues!"  
  
"Get out of here Joker! I've had enough of you!" Barbara replied grimly. "The joke's over."  
  
"Oh no," he bellowed in return, "It's only just beginning!" He lunged forward. "I've taken a good deal of time off my vacation to be here with you and you can darn tooting well die when you are told to!"  
  
In a final desperate attempt, she leapt forward out of her chair, aiming for the interior door but he caught her by the hair. With a yelp, she was dragged up kicking and screaming onto the kitchen table. She watched with horror as he ploughed through the table drawer with one hand, holding her firmly by the neck with the other. Probably searching for a knife, she thought.  
  
"I'll stop that squirming on way or another!" he yelled. "No eagle eyed Ken to save this little broken Barbie doll!"   
  
This was her last chance and she knew it. She rolled her body managing to swing her arm upwards and across, catching the madman in the groin. Despite her incapacity, she would never forget her training. Considering she was pinned by her neck, there was a great deal of energy and hatred behind the blow.  
  
The Joker gasped, then whimpered. She saw tears spouting from his eyes and watched as he tripped up backwards.  
  
"Now that's amusing!" She taunted. Her only chance was to anger him, get him to lose control. Only then might she be then able to turn the tables. Just one opening and she would get him. Her hand fumbled low into the table cutlery draw. She felt for, and then grasped a knife handle. She continued her goad the monster, hoping to distract him from what her real motivations. "I've always thought that clowns made really poor comedians, but you've proved me wrong. Clowns are funny – especially the really bad ones!"  
  
Incensed the Joker let out a scream of anger. "There can only be one joker here!" he snarled and leapt forward.  
The batarang hit him straight across the jaw shattering a tooth. "Ow!" he ejaculated.  
  
The shadow drifted across the room shattering the light bulb and plunging the dimly lit kitchen into total darkness.  
  
"There can be only Joker - it's just a matter of which it will be!" The Joker tried to look down at his huge mouth and failed miserably in the attempt. His mouth certainly hadn't said that - although it very much sounded like it did.   
  
A flash of black cape and a fist made connection with his enormous chin.  
  
"Out with the old – in with the new!" screamed the voice. Blood sprayed across the room and the clown prince collided with Barbara's vacant wheelchair. He finally caught a glimpse of his new attacker.   
  
He gasped.  
  
Barbara gasped.  
  
The sight was grotesque.   
  
Standing proudly, if unsteadily, was Gotham's Dark Knight. His outfit was torn, stained with dirt. His body seem to have been punctured; he was covered with tiny bleeding marks. The cause of this mass affliction was made clear from the clusters of tiny needles that continued to litter his frame. His cape hung in ribbons, frayed and shredded. What Barbara found most abhorrent was that all too familiar smile – a smile virtually identical to her attacker's.   
  
The Batman giggled as he took another swing at the Joker.  
  
The Joker snarled. "Not funny Bat-Bore," he pulled out fragments of broken tooth from his lip, "However I'd rather not lose another tooth." He declared as he fumbled in his jacket. He pulled out some handcuffs. "So shall we dispense with the standard parlay and down to the cuffing? This night has gone rapidly down hill for this party boy!"  
  
Batman waggled a finger. "Uh uh. You're not listening. We have a new Joker in town and Gotham isn't bigger enough for two!"   
  
The Joker then received another knee to the groin – the second in the space of minutes. He fell to the floor paralysed.   
  
Barbara had remained silent for too long. Part of her welcomed the pain the Joker was being dealt but the other part was revolted by the brutality of it all. Sometimes she wanted the Joker to die. Sometimes. In the end, she had been brought up better than to truly want that.   
  
"Batman!" Barbara instructed sternly. "That will do!"   
  
He ignored her, and issued another kick to the Joker's abdomen. Something was very wrong.  
  
"Batman!"  
  
He swung round to face her, letting out one final fluid kick to the Joker's face in the process. The clown's neck swung back and reverberated against the wall. He slid down onto the floor unconscious.  
  
"You!" growled Batman. "Who asked you?"  
  
Barbara was lost for words – this was all so wrong. What had happened? "Bruce!"   
  
"No Brucie – only new, improved Joker!" He cackled. "All you wanted from the original and a lot, lot more!" He observed Barbara's lack of excitement with vague disappointment. "Batsy needed the help of someone a little doo-lally and so he created me to keep his loopy noggin intact!"  
  
"Good lord," whispered Barbara as she got up from the table. "Did he do this to you?"  
  
"Sympathy?" sneered the Batman. "Dear me, you wannabe do-gooders are all as bad as each other! In fact you are the worst!" Leaping forward he pinned her down to the table. "I mean, who asked you to join in the game? Bruce certainly didn't. Did anyone ask? Did anyone ask for gender equality in the bat belfry? Can I hear anyone's voice asking?" He placed his hand to his ear, sarcastically. "Nope! No one! You just came along in your girly suit and your girly cowl – looking for a bit of fun!" The cowled face contoured with insane anger. "Well look where your exciting adventure got you! Look at the pain you have suffered! Look at the pain Bruce suffered!"  
  
"Bruce…" she shivered. Did he truly believe this?  
  
"The joke is upon you dear!" he declared nonchalantly, "You see, we Joker's stick together and quite frankly I'm tempted to finish off what he started!"  
  
" Bruce! What the hell's wrong with you?"  
  
"There is no Bruce!" Batman screamed. "Only Joker!"  
  
***  
  
"Now I didn't expect this!" Grumbled the Joker, pulling against the sharp batarangs that pinned him to the wall by his shoulders. His hands were bound. "This wasn't in the script!"   
  
Barbara was hung and cuffed in the same respect as her counterpart. They were back in the dining area. The room was pitched in shadows. She had lost track of the time.  
  
This wasn't turning out to be her night. She felt drained. Fear had long given up and gone home. She just wanted this to be over – one way or another.  
  
"This is your doing!" She spat at her fellow captive.  
  
"Ironic isn't it?" the Joker shrugged. "Oh, well, I suppose I finally got a laugh out of him – I should be proud of that!" His grin widened. "Yes! Score one for Joker!"  
  
One of the shadows shifted. "So who's first?" it asked.  
  
"Me!" screamed the Joker. "No, I mean her!"  
  
"I think her too."  
  
Barbara froze. What a way to go. Killed by her mentor who now believed he was his arch nemsis. Killed in, some ways, by the Joker after all yet the real Joker would never know. It was like some sort of inside joke.  
  
"Not going to cry out Barbara?" demanded Batman. "Defiant to the last?" Did she detect a hint of pride in that last remark?  
Who was she to cry out to?   
  
J'onn?   
  
She tried constantly to contact him that night, but then her night had been just a whole barrel of misfortune. She'd given up hope.  
  
Yet surely she was allowed one lucky break?  
  
A batarang sliced into the wall centimetres from her head. A lucky miss, or was their intent not to kill? Was Bruce still in there somewhere?   
  
"Missed." Batman said flatly.  
  
J'onn..  
  
Fortune smiles when you least expect it and Barbara genuinely did not expect a reply.  
  
"My apologies," came the ghostly voice, "the League has been caught in a temporal flux. We are exhauste-" She cut him off.  
"I need him now!" she fired back mentally.   
  
Momentary silence followed, enough to fill the space between breaths yet also enough to fill two lifetimes. A different voice answered, brusquely.   
  
"Perhaps if Batman had denied my request for assistance with a little more courtesy than simply 'I'm out', I maybe inclined to sort out his mess-"   
  
"I don't have time for your petty disputes!" screamed Barbara mentally. She had enough of this. This was the last chance for all of them. She sent conjured up a mental image just as Batman's hands gripped her throat.   
  
"You're communicating with the Manky Martian!" he breathed. "I can tell! I know all that Batsy knows!"  
  
"The Martian?" The real Joker enquired. His question was answered in the form of Batman's fist, striking him out for the second time. Batman's focus was Barbara.  
  
"You've told them!" he muttered with a slight hint of panic. "He'll be on his way!"  
  
"I'm on my way," a voice tickled her head, "Please hold on!" She could feel Batman's fingers snake around her throat. It would take seconds for him to get here. It would take seconds for Batman to end her life.   
  
"You can't do it." She said coldly. "You can't kill me."   
  
Batman backed off.   
  
Did she see a glimmer of sanity emerge from beneath the mask?   
  
The grin, to her disappointment returned – as did the voice.  
  
"Maybe Brucie won't let me kill you directly, but indirectly he has far less influence – silly old codger!" His face lit up with a new idea "I don't think I want to meet our soon-to-be-gate crasher right at moment – let's send him a gift!"   
  
He released three capsules from his belt across the room. As soon as the first one hit the wall it exploded sending debris and waste flying in all direction.  
  
The house began to collapse.  
  
***  
  
He launched off the lunar surface and down towards the planet below.  
  
How could he be so aloof? How could he have been so petty? Those extra seconds he lost making some infantile point could have cost Oracle and Batman their lives. The problem with being so fast, every second becomes more valuable.  
  
He could put it down his behaviour to the mission the League had been called out on, but that wasn't Clark. He took full responsibility of his actions, regardless of the endeavours. The fact they had only just made it out alive was no excuse. He'd been so angry with Bruce when he had refused to come along. Clearly he had something on his mind more important than saving the world – most likely Gotham. That city took precedence over everything.  
  
What has that city done to you now, Bruce?   
  
This wasn't the way it could end.  
  
It shouldn't end this way.  
  
His mind whispered alien thoughts. "Clark, there has been an explosion. I've lost contact."   
  
"Thanks J'onn. Inform Nightwing what's happened. I think he has a right to know."  
  
He mustered extra speed.  
  
My god Bruce, what have you done this time?   
  
He hit the atmosphere and gathered his wits. He had no idea what to expect.  
  
Seconds past.  
  
***  
  
She was bleeding; a piece of debris has kissed her forehead on its way past. She yanked her shoulders away from the batarangs that fixed her to the wall. She suddenly realised the bonds that had imprisoned her were now undone. Was it Bruce who had done that? Was Bruce fighting against his new persona?  
  
She pulled herself off the wall and fell to the floor. The second bomb exploded spitting debris everywhere. She protected her face with her arm as she was covered in plaster and pieces of. A picture of herself and her father cascaded off the wall and shattered on the floor. Splits started to caress the ceiling. The Joker had awoken and was dislodging himself from the wall with the strength of his shoulders. He had removed his bonds. He fell to the floor beside her.  
  
"I'm out of here toots!" he declared as he pulled himself to his feet.  
  
The third of Batman's capsules ignited taking out the facing wall, showering her with more plaster.  
  
Barbara looked up at the ceiling it. It was about to collapse and the Joker had managed to disappear.  
  
Without her chair she was near to helpless in this explosive environment. A few years ago it would have been two short leaps and a cartwheel to escape this death.  
  
Alone, she faced her fate with resolve. Damn you Joker, at least you won't get me.  
  
That was when the ceiling exploded with colours.  
  
Blue.  
  
Red.  
  
She saw a vague shape for the briefest moment before the colours lit the path between her and the ceiling. It then carried her upwards like she was caught in a current of watery hues. The ceilings and walls exploded around her body until she could finally see the night sky.   
  
The warm tinted light dropped her down onto the grass, the colours before her combined into physical form. Finally, Barbara's eyes caught up with the object they had been so desperately trying to catch - an object that moved far faster than a speeding bullet.  
  
The house began to collapse.  
  
Good riddance, she thought. All the memories of this night would no longer have a physical presence to linger in.  
Then a thought struck her.  
  
That was her fathers house she had just destroyed.  
She began to giggle uncontrollably.  
  
Superman leant down towards her just as she passed out.  
  
***  
  
With a mixture of awe and wonder the Batman strolled into the batcave. Part of him felt as familiar to this place as a mother is to her child. The other part, the manifestation of the Joker, the mental reconstruction of insanity to fight a mind-altering toxin, felt victorious. Not only did he have the Batman, but all his toys. He had managed to steal all from Bruce Wayne - his mission, his life – even his identity.   
  
He chuckled to himself. In fact, the idiot had offered it to him on a platter.  
  
"Thank you Batbore!" He exclaimed, sitting down at the gigantic computer. He then began spinning the chair frantically, chortling to himself. The noise of his laughter echoed throughout the hollow chambers and the cave replied with the sound of unsettled bats screeching, rebuking their changed master.   
  
He began taping spryly at the keyboard. "Let's see what we mischief we can get up to here!" he chuckled to himself from underneath the cowl. "Could I have a better toy than this?"  
  
The elevator doors to the mansion above opened. Batman took in the sounds and deduced the occupant before carrying on with his data search.  
  
She was still in the same clothes - her best clothes – now ruined by a mix of blood, sweat and dirt.   
  
"Brucie can't hear you." Sung the Batman as he merrily continued to tap away at the console.  
  
Barbara wheeled cautiously closer. The cave was virtually pitch black aside from the ghostly glow of the computer screens.   
"Where's our blue and red boy scout?" Batman asked. "I do hope he hasn't blown you out on your first date."   
  
Barbara edged closer still. "He's not here. Busy chasing the real Joker back to Arkham." She shrugged. "Besides, I may have misled him a little to where your whereabouts might be."  
  
Batman swung round. "Now, that was thoughtful of you!" he grinned, "and here I was thinking you had a deathwish or something! You think you have a better chance at saving Bruce than he? He could stop me. You can't"  
  
Barbara edged closer, the light from the monitors washing against her clear complexion. "Just because I'm crippled doesn't mean I don't know how to defend myself anymore," she told him grimly. "I want to save Bruce, you might not give Clark that luxury."  
  
"You against me? The big league?" Batman sneered swinging to face her, "Don't make me laugh!"  
  
"You're not the big league," Barbara retorted. "Bruce functions on order – everything he does is controlled and systematic. Life has to be methodical and precise. There can be no errors, no risks. No chance to threaten life. You can't work like that! You are not half the man he is!" She wheeled closer still. "In fact, I'm willing to bet that mind of his is such a mess even I could take you on," she grinned wickedly, "Even in this chair."  
  
Her hands gripped her chair's wheels tightly. Her muscles were tense. This was an awful risk.  
  
Batman's eyes remained fixed on Barbara as he caught Dick's batarang.   
  
"Nice try, my little Bat Groupie!" he cackled at Barbara, drowning himself in the sudden look of shock. Relishing the rapid spread of horror that crawled across her face.  
  
"I can smell fear," he said deliciously edging closer to her. "I can smell yours. You're scared. Still the little child playing the big boys games." Barbara could feel herself blushing. "You fear me – and so you should!" With a flick of the wrist, he swung the batarang back on the precise trajectory it had initially travelled upon. It was engulfed by the shadows and replaced by a shape rolling outwards and towards Batman.  
  
With one swift instinctive movement, Batman swung his leg up and kicked at Barbara's chair. Caught of guard it took her by surprise. It rolled back and tipped knocking her across the floor and almost over the edge of the walkway. She cursed herself – Bruce always had a way of intimidating her – making her feel like a little girl again. She was fighting two monsters.  
Meanwhile, the shadowy figure took an acrobatic leap that neatly took him off his intended course and placed him between the Batman and Barbara.  
  
Dick Grayson gave Batman an aching glance. "Bruce, what happened?"  
  
"What happened?" snarled the Batman the grin fading from his face, "You tell me! You're the one who left me!" He took a swing at Dick and missed. Dick could feel the urge to go for his gun, but fought it – this was no place for a cop, and there was no time for Nightwing. Dick Grayson, the role that bound his night to his day, was all that stood before the frantic vigilante.  
Batman continued his insane ranting his Joker-esque tones getting higher. "You're the one who couldn't hack being on the team!" Dick dodged another swing. "You could have been my legacy! You could have been this city's future!" Dick backed away, wary of Batman's lightening fast reflexes. Thankfully, the fit of rage consuming hem was interfering with his usual precision. Bruce's attacks were too sloppy to actually make contact.   
  
"You tell me what happened!" Batman's advances became ever more violent. "Don't like my methods?" screamed the Dark Knight. Dick felt he was running out of space, he knew the layout of the cave – he new what he was about to collide with if he didn't move. With a scream, Batman swung his fist with full force at his ex partner. Dick had more than enough experience to avoid the blow and duck to the side. "Look in the mirror Grayson!" yelled his attacker, his hand ploughing straight through the glass cabinet behind Dick, "You can't escape the legacy of-"  
  
His eyes became transfixed on the cabinet's damaged contents. He paused, the manic rage warping into tortured confusion.  
  
"Robin?"  
  
High up, the bats began to sing in unison.  
  
And then silence.  
  
Barbara felt a pair of familiar hands lift her back into her chair, something she would normally preferred to do herself, but tonight, she needed to be looked after and she knew he would look take care of her. Dick watched his ex-partner cautiously from her side. Batman remained still, his fist caught in the case's contents. Barbara watched her lover nervously. He noticed her gaze and placed a hand on her shoulder tightly. She should have never pushed him away tonight. She knew now that's what she had done – tried to protect him from her pain. She couldn't protect him from her past anymore than she could protect him from this.   
  
The blood oozed through Bruce's gloves, matching the colour of the garment that was tightly ensnared in his grip. Bruce's mouth trembled as he spoke. The voice was an uncomfortable mix of his normal timbre and that of the mimic Joker's.   
"I killed you," he declared softly.   
  
Dick shifted uncomfortably. "Go and get Alfred," he whispered to Barbara.   
  
Clutching the pieces of red and yellow cloth closely to his chest, Batman dropped to the floor.  
  
"Why not call Alfred from here?" Barbara protested. She could see Dick's resolve so she tried a more honest approach. "I don't think I should be leaving you."  
  
Dick squeezed her shoulder. "Please, go and get Alfred," he asked firmly.  
  
She nodded numbly, understanding the reason for his request. As she headed back to the elevator, she glanced over her shoulder as Dick gently knelt down and placed an arm around the broken man.  
  
As the lift doors shut, she listened to the sound of gentle sobbing tear through her heart. 


	5. Sweet Goodbyes

The Joker sat in his cell, inwardly reflecting upon his current situation.   
  
He had become such a liability to Arkham that his cell could no longer be decorated with anything that might be deemed as possible means of escape.  
  
Therefore, the cell was totally empty.  
  
The room wasn't even lit. A year back, a rigged hand buzzer constructed from the light fitting had electrocuted one of the guards. The administration had learned through the experience that even illumination could be used to the Joker's advantage. Because of this, they hand installed a special infrared surveillance camera and entrenched it within a unique concave ceiling. Time would only tell if the Joker could use this to his advantage.  
  
Maybe this time they could stop him from escaping.  
  
No one really believed it.  
  
Yet since he had been incarcerated, thanks to Superman's intervention, he had just sat there. No movement, no attempt to confuse or manipulate the guards.  
  
He sat in the dark.  
  
Alone.   
  
The Joker and his straightjacket, bonded in the dark  
  
Reflecting.  
  
Scheming.  
  
Waiting for an opportunity to arise.  
  
***  
  
A suppressed smile flickered across his features for just a fraction of a second. That slight rustle of a cape told him he was not alone.  
  
"Visiting hours are over," he cooed.  
  
"I'm not here to play games," the shadow answered, "Just to warn you."  
  
"Oh do go on Bats. I'm giddy with anticipation. What could you be warning me about? Sending me to Arkham?"  
  
"The Gordon's are off limits. They've both suffered enough of your madness. Go near them again and I'll destroy you."  
  
"Is that a threat?" Joker remained perfectly still, listening. The voice kept moving, making sure he couldn't pinpoint its origin.  
  
They were both too good at this.  
  
"It's no threat," replied the voice, "It's a fact. I will not tolerate anymore of this persecution."  
"Yet you'll tolerate my attempts to commit mass homicide against this fair city?" the Joker smirked quietly. "Is that personal guilt I can hear rumbling inside your batbriefs?"  
  
"Ignore the warning and you will suffer. I promise."   
  
The Joker calculated the odds. Certainly the Bat wasn't himself. This was not an observation based on the most recent escapade, he could hear it his enemy's voice. There was fatigue, maybe ailment. Could this be the moment he was waiting for?  
  
He waited until he heard the voice once more and then leapt up, his beady eyes searching against the black for their prey. He was here and he was weak. If he could not use him for escape, he could at least get the pleasure of killing him.  
  
Where was he?  
  
"Lost your bearings Joker?"  
  
Frustration began to sink in and he snapped, his straight jacket flared open and he began grasping vainly at the dark. "You can't stop me!" he snarled, "You never can stop me! I'll hound that girl until the end of my days if it will hurt you! There is nothing you can do about it!"  
  
"If you do," came the voice from behind him, "I will stop you – permanently."  
  
"You haven't the guts!" screamed the mad man, twisting round searching through the black for his target. "You're all hot air!"  
  
The voice had managed again to duck behind the Joker. "Try me. You may be unpleasantly surprised," growled the voice. "The rules have changed."  
  
"Come out where I can see you!" yelled the lunatic. Too late, he realised that the voices had lured him away from the door and before he could react, he heard the sound of the door being sealed behind him.  
  
***  
  
Seething he sat back down on the floor.  
He grinned.  
  
Never mind, it had been a good sign.  
  
If Batman could get in, he could get out.  
  
He began his long wait for the next opportunity.  
  
***  
  
"I hope I misinterpreted what you said in there."  
  
Batman tensed to the sound of Superman's voice. He buried the frustration he felt and continued to gaze out across Arkham's roof. The cold wind blew his cape out in front of his body, like claws reaching out into the cold night sky.  
  
"You're getting good at this." The Bat said dryly. "I didn't hear you."  
  
"I'd take that as compliment, if you weren't so out of shape." Superman floated into Batman's line of sight. "I'm concerned about you Bruce, I heard what you said to the Joker and I can't say I'm comfortable with it."  
  
He was listening – super hearing. Couldn't the man just keep out of his affairs?   
  
"He has to know his limits."  
  
"Do you know yours?"  
  
Batman paused. "I don't know. There is a cycle and every time it revolves, an innocent gets hurt." He turned to face the Kryptonian. "Should we be trying to stop the cycle rather than perpetuate it?"   
  
"That's dangerous talk Bruce. It's a one way trip."  
  
Batman rubbed his temples. "How long are we to play this game with him? How many more must die until someone finishes him?"  
Superman frowned. "Are you willing to sacrifice all you are for him? He'd want you to do that."  
  
Batman remained silent. Superman studied his long time friend. Outwardly he was still a mess. Stubble lined his mouth and his stance retained none of its usual bold posture.   
  
"Take some time off, Bruce. We don't want to lose you to this mess."  
  
With that, Superman shot into the sky leaving Bruce and the icy winds. His final words left echoing in the sky.  
  
"Remember Hal Jordan."  
  
***  
  
James Gordon sat in his car outside the remains of his house. He sipped at his cold coffee as he surveyed the wreckage of his burnt out home. The police report sat on his lap covered in coffee spills and ash burns - a 'gift' from the department.  
He tossed the papers onto the passenger seat and got slowly out of the car, slamming the door shut.   
  
Out of the corner of his eye he had seen the cape dancing behind a nearby tree, a calling sign to him. He adjusted his glasses and walked over. The moon sat partnered with an unanswered Bat signal. Not my problem, he told himself.  
  
He gazed down the dark street. "What a mess," he mentioned to the dark figure. "Insurance will cover it, but it's not something you want return to after being lead on a wild family goose chase. I guess I can thank the Joker for that one."  
  
"What happened Jim?"  
  
"Another time," Gordon replied.  
  
There followed a pause in the conversation, interrupted by the occasional passing taxi. Gordon could feel his teeth chattering in the contemptuous wind.  
  
"I'm sorry I couldn't stop it," whispered the shadow.  
  
"What happened Batman?" Gordon asked suddenly with a slight degree of understandable agitation. "Barbara hasn't told me the whole story. It was something very nasty – I know that - even for the Joker."  
  
Batman grunted an affirmation. Gordon wiped his glasses.  
  
"I know you were there. We - they - found traces of your 'equipment'. What was that madman trying to do to my little girl?" Batman flinched at Gordon's tone. He could imagine how hard this must be to have the Joker intrude once more into his life.  
  
"I wasn't there."  
  
"The explosives that destroyed the place were a chemical compound, similar to ones we've experienced with yourself on occasions," He continued bitterly. "Don't lie to me. Damn you Batman, don't lie to me!" He rustled through his pockets and then realised he had left the cigarette packet in the car. "If you know something – I have a right to know."  
  
"I wasn't there Jim, you can trust me on that."  
  
"Stop it!" yelled Gordon, his rage flowing to his cheeks. Batman took a step back in genuine surprise. "I have never question your methods, or your hidden secrets! But in this case I'd expect you to make an exception! That man killed my wife, he crippled my daughter and god knows what he tried last night." As Gordon ran a hand through his hair he glanced into the face of his associate. He turned back towards his house. The fury died from his voice.  
  
"You look awful. What the hell did he do to you?"  
  
For a moment, there was another awkward silence - a choice of words was being searched for. "He broke me."  
  
Jim needn't bother to turn round; from experience he knew the vigilante was gone.  
  
***  
  
"You called?"  
  
Batman drifted into the clock tower. Barbara smiled as she consumed the final piece of her late night sandwich. "I thought you would like to help me with my solitaire game. I think I've finally found one of those impossible combinations." She shrugged off his reply of silence and clicked the mouse. "Well I thought it was funny." She closed down her browser and wheeled round, adjusting her spectacles to inspect him. "You're meant to be resting," she told him.  
  
"I had something on my mind," he said dryly.  
  
"Sit down Bruce," she motioned to the chair next to him. The Batman remained static.   
  
She turned back to her screen. "Sit down or fall down, it's all the same to me. You don't have to be the world's greatest detective to see that you are on your last legs."  
  
Batman slowly slumped on the chair and Barbara slid her chair over to him. "That toxin is still in your bloodstream, you should be resting until you've sweated it out."  
  
"I know what I'm doing."  
  
"I'm not sure you do," she told him with a smile. "Don't make me bring Dick all the way out here to put you to bed. You'll regret it. He's surprisingly bad with bedtime stories. Go home."  
  
"I don't need a mother, Barbara." Bruce replied.   
  
"Isn't that what you've always needed?" she said gently.  
  
He sat there in silence.   
  
The beeping sound informing her of a new email drew her attention away from the Dark Knight. As she turned back to the computer desk she felt a hand grip her chair.  
  
"Those things he," Batman corrected himself, "No, I said - they weren't true."  
  
She looked away from him, again feeling like a small child in the presence of her father. "I'm not so sure Bruce."  
  
"Maybe once, a long time ago, but not anymore." She felt the cold glove against her chin, turning her head to face him. She looked up at his worn, face, he had removed the cowl and she looked straight into his deep, tired eyes. "I was wrong about resenting your involvement in our team." She had to confess the emphasis on the word 'our'. "You've proven time and again to be as strong and as reliable as any of us - considering what's happened, even more so. I don't think I ever let any of you know how proud I am of you all."   
  
Barbara hadn't seen him so candid in a long time. She couldn't decided if she felt overjoyed or terrified.  
  
"I'm sorry," The word flowed uncomfortably from his lips. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop him in time. I was sloppy in my work and for that you almost paid the price."  
  
"Hey, I'm a big girl, I can look after myself," she beamed.  
  
"Yes, indeed you are."   
  
Was that a grin?  
  
"You drunk?" she quipped. "You don't smile."  
  
"No," he replied as he replaced the mask. "Just soft."  
  
"Soft?" she exclaimed cheekily, "You?"  
  
"Probably." Was that a smile again?   
  
He offered one more awkward pause. "I'm just grateful that I've had the chance to apologise. I never had - and never will - get that opportunity with Jason."  
  
Then, he was gone – leaving Barbara to the intermittent beeping of her email.  
  
***  
  
"Shouldn't you be at work?" Bruce asked.  
  
"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Dick retorted.  
  
Batman grunted and removed the cowl. With his unique and frankly miraculous timing, Alfred had left a cup of warm coffee by the computer and disappeared probably just seconds before Bruce had entered the Bat Cave. The man was verging on telepathic. Sometimes Bruce had to wonder if his butler would have made as worthy adversary as the Joker.   
  
He slumped down into his leather chair and took the coffee.   
  
"You running on caffeine alone?" Dick asked as he leant against Bruce's seat.  
  
"I like to think its willpower, but yes quite probably," admitted the vigilante. "Did Barbara send you?"  
  
Dick tapped his head. "She doesn't need to. I just know." He paused. "You okay Bruce? You seem, well, mellow."  
  
"Contemplative."  
  
Dick grinned. "So you should be. You saw a side of yourself you never knew you had. A nasty one at that."  
  
"It wasn't as nasty as you think."  
  
Dick was caught of guard by this admission, and finally decided to let it go. "Well, you shouldn't be pushing yourself until you come to terms with all that head stuff." He rested a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Get some rest, we'll look after Gotham."  
  
"I expected no less." Bruce replied as he left his seat, "Thanks Dick."  
  
***  
  
Showered, he walked into the master bedroom. He threw his towel to the floor and wrapped his dressing gown around his body.  
He drew the curtains and switched on the site lamp.  
  
He sat down on the bed next to Jason. The successor to the Boy Wonder was lying across the fresh sheets in his Robin costume.  
"They think you're okay?" the ghost asked.  
  
"They know as much as they need to know, so yes, they do."  
  
"Do you think you're okay?"  
  
He paused. "I will be. I just need to come to terms with who I am once more."  
  
The boy began tossing an old batarang. "Really? Come to terms with what?"   
  
Bruce sighed. "We change, as we get older. Something you'll never be able to experience. It's that experience that alters us. It bends us. We tend forget all that we do change as much as everyone else and simply carry on as if all things remained as equal as they were ten years ago."  
  
"How about the fact you're talking to yourself?" The Joker asked from the en-suite. A pink fluffy dressing gown garbed his body and a towel was firmly wrapped around his head. "Don't you wonder if that change you've discovered means you should really be booking out a room at Arkham?" The Joker giggled.   
  
Bruce grinned and the apparition vanished with a note of surprise. "Not yet, not ready for Arkham quite yet."  
Robin stuck his tongue out at the spot where the Joker once stood. "You know we may end up there – that could be our destiny."  
  
Bruce nodded.  
  
The lad bounced up on the bed and leaned closer to. "Goodbye Bruce."   
  
The millionaire studied the boy's face, attempting to burn every detail of his dead partner into his own subconsciousness.  
He nodded and closed his eyes. "Goodbye Jason," he said softly. With a heavy sigh he lay back onto the bed. Alone.  
Or so he thought.  
  
A gentle English cough alerted him to Alfred's presence.  
  
"Is everything okay Master Bruce?"  
  
He smiled. "Fine Alfred. Everything is just fine." 


End file.
